The clock reads 9:59.
My heart beats twice as fast with each second that passes.
I changed out of my Vanstone apparel and into my pajamas, hoping it’d make me crawl into my bed instead of toward thedoor, yet I stand gripping the handle with the little devil on my shoulder, encouraging me to open it.
Like Cinderella on the night of the ball, the clock strikes, and I panic.
I back away from the door with my heart in my stomach, but with every step comes disappointment. I rush back over, open the door, and stand there with one foot out in the hallway.
The polished marble floor shows the reflection of a flushed-faced woman, drawn to the very line she’s about to cross. I’m hungry for trouble, caught in the middle of a serious yearning for Rome Pierce and his irritatingly hot smirk and skillful hands.
A noise sounds at the end of the hall, and I quickly jerk backward, letting my door slam shut.
My phone pings.
Rome
You’re late.
I stare at the screen, the words blurry the more I read them.
Rome
Didn’t take you for someone who chickens out, Princess.
He strikes a nerve, and he knows it.
Rome
Bawk, bawk.
Did he seriously just bawk at me?
Me
I’m not a chicken.
I fight, tooth and nail, to ignore the way my legs want to move toward the door.
Rome
So, you’re just late? I guess every minute you keep me waiting is another minute I’ll tack on to not giving you that orgasm I owe you.
Heat settles between my legs.
I open the door again to let the hallway air wash over my warm skin.
Me
It’s funny you think you have control over when I do and don’t come.
Rome
I bet I can get you to come without even touching you.
Yeah, right.
Rome
